Myles Moments
by Kitty Ryan
Summary: A collection of stories, drabbles and poems, each of which featuring Sir Myles of Olau in any way they can. Now: 'Suspense, Or a Moral Code of Fish' Seven-year-old Myles has a problem with bedtime tales.
1. Big Sticks

**Myles Moments

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I've been having heaps of computer problems lately. I haven't been able to write in months and now I've discovered that I've become woefully ot of practise. So, before I even attempt to continue my more lengthy/serious works (read: Candle to Light Your Honour), I'm going back to my fluff/humour roots, using my favourite Myles.

Kit, December 2004

P.S: Thanks to Treanz-Alyce for pointing out paragraph...er...repitition. And to Amethyst for spelling nitpicks.

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**1: Tools of the Trade: An Introduction**

He was a pathetic sight, no two ways about it. Exhausted after half an hour; panting, sweating, _shaking _with the effort of standing. The sunlight glared into the boy's eyes, and hanks of flyway hair joined it.

_As long as any girl's_, the Training Master thought, disgusted. He bruises like a girl, too.

He was too small, a soft midge in the other man's shadow. He liked his food too much. He was a waste.

He was completely and utterly incompetent.

"Well, boy? I thought I told you to improve your technique, _quickly_."

"I read several books about it. All the good ones, by Raven Armory and the General's Collection, sir."

"_Books_? You won't get a Knight Master by--"

"And," continued Myles of Olau, "I've come to the conclusion that there is very little technique to hitting people hard with a big stick."


	2. Suspense, Or a Moral Code of Fish?

**Myles Moments

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On 23 hour plane trips, it's always good to have something to do, even if the end product is, well…this. Whatever 'this' actually is.

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**2: Suspense, Or a Moral Code of Fish: age 7 and 1/2**

Every night, the book snapped shut.

For 'suspense', Father said, always smiling. Myles liked the smile. It made hiseyes crinkle up in the corners, and showed-off a funny gap in his teeth at the front. Though 'funny' was possibly the wrong word. There were other, better words, he knew. Father liked him to try and look them up in the big dictionary in his room. The one with the gold edging.

Myles had looked up suspense one day, after a week where Father had snapped shut the covers on the big book particularly hard and often, because it had come up to the story of Lady Harsye and he wanted to make it last for long time. Especially when it was time for the Virtuous Lady to have her Honour Bravely Defended by the Veritable Knight, Sir Queenscove. Father made his words big and proud when he read these pages, and would always stop dramatically just before Doom was about to be had. This was how suspense was made.

But Myles didn't understand, not really. It had taken him a long time to get up high enough to fetch down Father's book—even longer to find the page, and then the part of the page, where 'suspense' was kept; he couldn't get the letters to fit together for a while—and when he'd finally managed to work it out Myles still thought something was wrong. The book told him, in black lettering that he knew had been carved by a printer who placed everything backward so it could be read forward, what 'suspense' was, and it didn't fit with Father's idea of it at all, and this was worrying.

Especially because he thought that he agreed with the dictionary more than Father, just a little. It made him feel uncomfortable. He couldn't find a single thing that was suspenseful in Father's stories. He knew them. He'd listened to them every night since….since before he could think confusing things like this, and he didn't like them. Not because he felt scared for the characters, but because he thought they were stupid. Silly. Not interesting. All those things. He didn't know _why _yet, but he was sure.

Father said that these bedtime stories were meant to lay down the 'Foundations of His Life and Work', because Myles was going to be a knight some day. Some day ever _sooner_, in fact, so he decided to not tell Father about all the thoughts in his head whilehe hoped—oh yes, he hoped—that becoming a knight did _not_ mean that he had to turn into somebody like the Sir Queenscove from his bedtime book. It would be too messy and embarrassing, and full of…_daft_ things. Like Mortal Peril.

Every night, Myles listened to his father read, enjoying Father's funny—no! _Peculiar_. That was it!—smiles more than the words.

Every night, the book snapped shut, and Father put it carefully away on Myles' little shelf so that the title would flash silvery in the candlelight. Even the title was silly. There were gaps where letters were meant to be. One day soon, Myles knew he wouldn't be able to stand the silliness of it all any more, and he knew that would make Father sad.

Every night, Myles secretly poked out his tongue at **The Cod of Chi lry**.


End file.
